


The One Crying

by orphan_account



Category: Discworld - Pratchett
Genre: Canon Compliant, Female Characters, Ficlet, Gap Filler, Gen, POV Alternating, POV Female Character, POV Third Person, Past Tense, Religion, Wordcount: 100-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-15
Updated: 2006-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-09 03:34:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/82581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who was the one crying on that first night?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Crying

Betty lies in the cold straw, feeling lucky it isn't damp. She slept in a shed on her way to Plun, and that one had a leak on the roof, and it was a rainy night. There's only the wind, now, rattling the windowpanes, and the shifting and snoring of the boys in the darkness.

She wakes up from a light doze to the sound of sobbing. It's halting, lonely. She's glad it isn't her. She wonders what boy here could have it worse than her, and falls back into confused dreams.

It helps, later, to find they're not alone.

-

Magda and Tilda lie in the corner of the shed, keeping, by habit, the distance of twenty inches between them. Magda's began to snore gently, but Tilda doesn't sleep. She thinks of fire and the future. This still isn't freedom.

It takes a moment for her to realize someone in the room is crying; it's not such an unusual sound, and for a moment she thinks it's Alice again. But Alice isn't here.

It must be some boy afraid to die. Tilda doesn't pity him. They both lie in beds of their own making, but Tilda isn't crying about it.

-

Alice is startled out of thoughts of the Duchess by a sob in the darkness.

She's cried herself in other dark rooms filled with people trying to be quiet, trying to be private. She remembers the world underneath her blanket, within her sorrow or, more often, her wounds, which will not let her sleep, will not let her lie still, and torment her through the long black hours.

She puts her hands together and prays for the boy hidden in darkness, the boy who plays her part this night. _He lacks faith, he lacks purpose; sweet Little Mother, protect him._

-

The new skin on her fingers itches. She'll put some ointment on it tomorrow.

She contracts her flexor digitorum superficialis, loosens, contracts, like a tick. This work will fool a casual observer, but any of her cousins would recognize her instantly. Her cousin Igorina had sent her off with worried smiles. She'll be caught. She knew she'll be caught when she left the house.

It burns out of her, the sob. She's done a thing she can never go back on. She cries for her father, her mother, her sisters. She'll still have the clan, but she'll not have family.


End file.
